


Oswald

by edy



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Domestic, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-23
Updated: 2013-05-23
Packaged: 2017-12-12 18:36:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/814712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edy/pseuds/edy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerard comes home from work to see a cat staring at him with eyes set to kill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oswald

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nagem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nagem/gifts).



> request from [Nagem](http://archiveofourown.org/users/nagem): something cute with a cat

Upon approaching the only traffic light in town that seems to have the "red" setting, he debates on running it. No one else would dare be out at this time—not on a very early Sunday morning like this. They need to get a good night's rest; they have church in the morning, and they just _couldn't_ miss that.

He presses his lips together and groans, but finds himself slowly pushing on the brake of his shitty beige Avalon. He makes a hasty grab for his cell and clicks a few buttons, trying to distract himself from the flitting thoughts of homicide and sleep and his boyfriend. He wants to be home right now. He wants to peel off his disgusting uniform with the scratched up "Gerard Way" nameplate. He desperately needs a shower. Grease and Big Mac crumbs cake his hair, and the skin on his cheeks is peeling—thanks to his acne medication his dermatologist was _so sure_ would clear up his skin of all the red patches and blackheads.

He tosses his phone aside and hears it slide off the passenger seat to make the floor mat its new home. He sighs and drums his fingers against the steering wheel, entering a staring contest with the traffic light. After three more minutes of seeing red, red, and nothing but red, he looks both ways and crosses the intersection. He was right—no one is out.

His key is almost as happy to be home as he is—it fits perfectly in the lock the first time around; it usually takes him several tries to wrap his mind around the concept of a key.

The interior of his home matches that of the exterior—plain, white, with only a few splashes of color here and there. For the décor outside, dollar store garden gnomes and other critters greet the visitor, while on the inside, there's only the small TV and accidental paint splatters hugging the walls. He and his boyfriend call it home, so he doesn't complain that much.

He switches on the lamp on the side table by the couch, ripping off his coat and uniformly visor in the process. He goes to toss them on the back of the lounge chair—a routine he's become accustomed to on a daily basis—but something is already stationed there, and he's not too familiar with it.

It's a small black-and-white tuxedo cat with caricatured blue eyes.

They lock glances, and he's frozen to the spot, as if the orbs in its face are icicles and keeping him in place; but then, the animal blinks and yawns, clearly bored, and rests its head back onto its white paws.

He races out of the room, ditching his coat and hat on the floor.

Bumping into walls and smashing toes against doorways doesn't seem to wake up the sleeping form in his bed. Then again, they don't appear asleep—the glow of their cell lights up the cave they've created under a blanket. He frowns and slides into bed. "Frank," he mumbles.

"Huh."

"There's something in the living room," he whispers, just in case the beast could hear him.

"Yeah, and?" the other grumbles, pushing the blanket off his head, letting a big sheet of static attack the brown hair, forcing it to stand on end. He shuts off his Facebook application as soon as the glimpse of "Frank Iero" pops on screen. Said man in question blinks. "It's not hurting you, is it, Gerard?"

"Well, uh," stammers Gerard, "not exactly, no."

"Then, leave it alone." Frank clicks back onto Facebook, then decides against it when the app fails to load fast enough. He presses onto his "Games" folder and chooses to play a quick game of _Robot Unicorn Attack_ , but having known Frank for almost all his life, Gerard knows the shorter man would be up all night playing it.

Gerard begins to frown when Frank sniffs and makes no other attempt to explain anything pertaining to the cat in their living room. "Uh, Frank?"

"What?" He smashes his thumbs into the screen.

"About the cat—"

"Just drop it, Gerard. Go take a shower. You smell."

A frown completely eats Gerard's demeanor, then. He loudly exhales in a weak attempt at making Frank feel guilty, but the gamer continues haphazardly moving his thumbs against the phone screen, jumping across gaps and ramming into stars. Gerard sighs again, a bit softer this time, and presses his lips to Frank's temple. "Okay, well, I'll be right back."

Frank moves away from his touch. "Gross—fuck—skin's peeling—could, y'know—feel it."

Gerard runs into the bathroom and consoles himself by indulging in a warm shower, Head and Shoulders shampoo, and face moisturizer. He shaves off any unwanted facial hair afterward and dresses in his pajamas. The thought of slipping into bed and passing out in a deep slumber aches his bones, but then McDonald's flashes back into his mind, overwhelming him, and he groans and stomps into the bedroom, wishing for the feel of his boyfriend's arms around him.

But his wishes come up short when he sees Frank in the same position as before, still playing on his phone. Despite this, Gerard still crawls into bed and turns away from the bright screen of the game. "'Night, Frank."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll get it in the morning."

*

"Who's going to watch the cat while we're at work?"

Frank doesn't raise his head from his phone. "Huh."

Gerard sets a bowl of Cheerios in front of him. "The cat. The one _still_ in the living room."

"I'll take it to work with me, no problem." Frank locks his phone and sets it aside. He picks up the spoon resting against the side of the bowl and devours several bites.

Gerard stares at him, taking the seat across the table. "You can't take a cat into the library, Frank."

Frank waves a hand, and Gerard groans, pushing bits of banana into his mouth.

*

Gerard comes home around six that evening—much earlier than he had before. His boss was in a good mood and decided to let him off; plus, he had received some nasty comments from a few customers about his appearance and hiding in the kitchen didn't help.

"So, you got sent home because you're ugly."

Gerard screws his face up. "Well, to put it bluntly, yeah."

Frank stares at him, slowly standing and moving to sit beside his boyfriend on the couch. He wraps an arm around his waist and sloppily presses his mouth against his cheek, making the wet sound of a smooch echo through the house. "It's okay, Gee. I still think you're pretty."

Gerard's insides flutter. "How'd your day go?" He pulls his legs to his chest and gropes around for the TV remote. "With the cat and all?"

Frank blinks and looks ahead. "Awesome." He rubs at his eyes and leans his head against the back of the couch.

"Okay, um, where's it at now?"

"Probably in the cat tube I bought it."

Gerard's eyes widen. "What?"

"Well, we couldn't just have it chill on the back of the chair, now, can we?"

"I didn't say—"

"Do you want me to put it in the fucking pound?"

"I never—"

"Whatever, Gerard, just get over it. The cat's gonna stay here. I fucking rescued it off the side of the road. I'm its, like, guardian angel. Its home is here now. Get. Over. It." Frank roughly shoves Gerard in the process of standing and walking out of the room.

Gerard watches with a confused expression.

*

Gerard thinks the cat's out to get him.

He doesn't know what Frank had told it, but it seems like it holds a grudge against him now. It tripped him the other night while he was getting up to take a piss. It bit his ankle when he stepped out the shower, and it dug its claws into the bedpost on his side of the bed.

Needless to say, he's on the cat's hit list.

*

In the morning, Gerard chooses to confront Frank about the cat, but said feline is pacing the kitchen doorway, eyes narrowed and tail held high in dominance. So, he decides to slip through the back door to head to work.

He thinks the cat would've abandoned its hostile persona as the day progressed, but when Gerard steps into the little house at two o'clock in the morning, the cat is there, sitting on top of the back of the chair. Its black tail is wrapped around its body, delicately curling into its little white paws. Its head is cocked, blue eyes still resembling the position they held this morning. Gerard is just as scared as ever, so he runs like a coward into the bedroom, bumping into walls and smashing toes against doorways. He flies into the bed and gets underneath the covers, adrenaline pulsing through his veins. He's about to have a panic attack, but Frank is there to swoop down and calm him, cradle him with his arms, and tell him everything is going to be okay since he's here, and nothing will ever dare to hurt him while big, ol' Frank is here.

But his vision of Frank falling down from the heavens isn't exactly accurate. Instead of an embrace, he gets hit by flailing arms. And instead of reassuring words, he gets a carefully woven string of profanities that are sure to make a nun's ears drop off.

Gerard cringes. "Frank, Frank, stop—it's me. I'm sorry for waking you."

A pause. A sigh. "Oh. Gerard. Hi."

"Sorry."

"It's okay."

Frank's fading heartbeat is the only audible thing in the room, and after much time of silence has passed, Gerard slowly begins to turn away. "Uh, well, good night."

"Wait, wait, wait," comes the slightly slurred voice of his boyfriend. He rolls about on the bed, getting his limbs tangled up in an unidentified mess of blanket and sheet. Gerard feels a press of his lips to his ear, and as he shuts his eyes, a shiver passes through his body at Frank's delicate tone tickling his hearing.

"I want to fuck."

Clothes are shed in a matter of fast-ticking seconds. Their bodies blend together as flushed skin meets flushed skin, as mouth meets teeth, as shaking hands meet genitalia. It's a race to the finish, and all eyes are on Gerard as he clings to Frank's shoulders, pressing hips between legs, mouth attached to jaw line. Among the numerous grunts and groans, the black-haired young adult hears the softest mew from the menacing tuxedo cat whose only goal in life is to kill him.

Gerard chooses to ignore and lets Frank's lips on his throat carry him back to the world of ecstasy.

But then, he feels the mattress slowly dip down to match the newly added weight of, no doubt, the cat.

His previous plan of _just ignore it_ is demolished when paranoia creeps up his spine and attaches to his skull. The one underneath him doesn't notice his boyfriend's disturbance until he is clinging to air and climaxing for the hushed silence lingering in the room. Frank slowly relaxes, and his eyes meet Gerard's, who is standing at the edge of the bed, eyes wide, terribly trembling. Rising onto his elbows, Frank narrows his own eyes and stares at Gerard. "What the hell."

Gerard continues to stand as stiff as the appendage between his legs was just a matter of seconds ago. He stares at Frank, carefully swallowing and picking at the skin around his nails. "That cat," he says quietly.

Frank sighs and falls against the covers, dipping his fingers into the mess on his stomach. "Yeah, what about it?" he spits out. "It fucking wants to be around us. It _likes_ us." The bed creaks when Frank goes into a sitting position. He reaches for the cat, stroking at the edges of the black tuxedo pattern around its eyes. "Is it so hard for you to accept the love of another being?"

Gerard becomes a fish. His lips part, and then quickly close. Headaches burst behind his eyes.

"Just…" Frank groans. "Clean yourself up. Damn." He reaches over, grabbing a couple of tissues from the bedside table. Dabbing the semen from his stomach, he continues to pat the cat, making a purr escape from its throat as it paces the bed covers with black tail held high.

Gerard retreats into the bathroom.

*

Hoping to return to the comfort of Frank, Gerard pauses when he sees a small figure sitting upright on his pillow.

The figure is the cat; with its head tilted and tail swishing over white paws, it looks almost menacing, and Gerard decides to pull on a pair of pajamas and sleep on the couch tonight.

Frank doesn't protest—just watches with an annoyed expression.

*

"Oswald."

Looking up from his bowl of cereal, Gerard examines the smug look on Frank's face as he sits with his arms across his chest, eyes bright and brilliant. He nods at Gerard, practically urging him to question the word that had slipped out of his mouth. So, Gerard sighs and drops his gaze back to his breakfast. He spoons a mouthful and sniffs. "Who's Oswald?"

"Our cat."

Gerard slowly nods back at Frank. He stuffs the spoon in his mouth. "Makes sense."

"What?"

"Our cat killed Kennedy."

"Gerard," Frank mutters, scooting his chair closer to the table.

"What?" He takes another bite.

"You're a fucking idiot."

"Oh." His heart falters, and he ends up stabbing pieces of Frosted Flakes into the bottom of his bowl. He begins to sarcastically thank Frank, but he is cut off by Frank's mouth gently pressing against his own, his hands grabbing his shoulders, his fingers curling into the thin bones. The hold is penetrating him, forcing his lips to part, his tongue to meet his boyfriend's. He drops the spoon against the side of the ceramic bowl before gathering Frank's neck in his hands, pulling him in, wanting everything inside him to be Frank, Frank, Frank, and nothing else.

Unfortunately, he feels the flutter of belly fur drift across the top of his feet and the small, sharp scrape of claws against the inside of his ankle.

Gerard knocks over the chair as he jumps up and pulls on the rest of his clothes, yelling at Frank about having to get to work early.

*

On his break, Gerard notices he has bled through his sock. He stuffs toilet paper down in the article of clothing before going back to the world of fast-paced exchanges of bills and grease.

*

It's raining when Gerard comes home around midnight. He wishes he could have gotten home sooner, before the storm hit, but a crowd of teenagers decided it'd be funny to throw a few firecrackers into the bathroom. He had to clean it up, and when he was done, the rain clouds had already formed, and the lightning and thunder greeted him whenever he dug his keys into the ignition.

Frank is awfully frightened of thunderstorms. A light drizzle doesn't bother him—he sometimes drags Gerard outside to kiss and grope in the weather. But when the house starts to vibrate and pierce their eardrums, Frank becomes a newborn baby and does his best to hold onto Gerard wherever he goes.

So, feeling like an ass is a natural response to not being there for Frank at his time of need. Gerard wants to go out and buy him a whole flower shop, but it's closed, and he has no cash with him.

Going home and facing the uproar of the smaller man is the only choice right now.

The house is silent. Gerard calls for Frank, and a muffled "yeah?" and a sniffle comes from the kitchen. Gerard drops off his coat and visor on the back of the lounge chair before heading into the adjacent room. He sees Frank hunched over the table, their blanket from their bed carefully wrapped around his shoulders. His face is held in his hands, eyes closed, back lightly convulsing as a dozen small sobs escape from his lips.

Gerard swoops down, dragging a chair from the opposite end of the table to rest against the crying other. He sits down, wrapping his arm around his waist. "I'm sorry I wasn't here earlier, Frank," he starts. "I really meant to come in sooner, but work had me held up, and you really shouldn't cry over something like this, I mean—"

"You think I'm crying over some fucking _rain_?"

Gerard pauses, utterly frozen at the tone hitting his ears. It's so cold, so displeasing. Gerard frowns. "Well, now I think about it… probably not, but I know you're scared of thunderstorms, and I don't know. Maybe you—"

"Shut. Up."

Gerard does.

" _Yeah_ , I don't enjoy thunder, but I won't fucking sob over it. Damn, Gerard." Frank wipes his eyes and rests his hands on his lap after. "I, well, when I was carrying in groceries, just, I dunno, Oswald escaped or something."

Gerard almost had to ask "who's Oswald?" but he quickly remembers and brings Frank closer to his chest, rubbing his side and doing his best to console the other over the missing cat.

Between Frank's gross cries and sharp intakes of breath, Gerard can hear the coherent statements of "I bought a fucking cat tube, man" and "I didn't even know it for that long" and "It probably went back to its real owners, if it's still alive"; Gerard gets so depressed, he picks up the other and tucks him under several wool blankets and the comforter. He promises him everything'll be all right before going into the bathroom and showering off the day's disgust.

He wipes off the dried blood on his ankle and applies a bandage. The cut's getting infected.

Managing to squeeze close to Frank and all the coverings, he holds the smaller man close, pressing his mouth to his ear and softly singing a lullaby.

"Hey, Gerard," Frank mumbles after a roll of thunder causes him to shake.

"Yeah?"

"Your face is clearing up pretty nicely."

They peacefully fall asleep.

*

Days pass. Frank doesn't go to work. He stays in bed, staring at the ceiling, occasionally getting up to get a drink of water and to relieve his bladder. Gerard doesn't like it.

One evening, Gerard sits down beside Frank, who is currently on his phone, scrolling through Twitter. Gerard takes a deep breath. "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine."

"Wanna go out tonight?"

"No."

"Wanna stay in and watch a movie?"

"Yes and no."

Gerard stares. Frank slowly raises his head, locking his phone. "Do you know who I miss?"

And Gerard nods after turning away, rolling his eyes. "Oswald," he answers, "Oswald, I know."

Frank curls into a ball, pulling Gerard's pillow out from under him to cradle in his arms. "I hope it's okay."

"It probably is."

"I hope it found its way back home."

"It probably did."

"I hope it's still alive."

"It probably is."

Frank turns his gaze onto Gerard, who returns it. "Probably?"

He nods. "Probably."

Frank lowers his eyes back to the bed covers. He pulls the pillow close, rubbing his cheek against the material of the case, slowly closing his eyes. "Probably," he repeats.

Gerard lies next to him. "Probably."

*

After a fortnight of nothing but constant depression and irritability, Gerard decides to take matters into his own hands.

When he gets off work, he visits the local animal shelter and spends quite a bit of time in there to get everything right, everything correct, so Frank doesn't get short with him as he steps through the door with something that resembles nothing like the feline that lived with them for such a short time.

As soon as he gets his hands on the small black-and-white ball of fuzz, Gerard knows he'll be loved when he gets home.

He can barely keep the bundle of fur from mewling with excitement on the car ride home.

*

The moment he steps foot into the house, Frank yells at him from the bedroom, urging him to reveal where he was and why he decided to go there. Gerard keeps quiet, silently walking into the bedroom where the stench of rotten apples and freshly-opened cans of soda greet him. He stares at Frank, and Frank stares back at him, choosing not to pay attention to the animal in his hands. "Where have you been?" he asks, eyes narrowing.

"I was at work," answers Gerard, shuffling his feet against the carpet. "And then—"

"And then _what_?"

"I went to the animal shelter."

He looks over at Frank, whose expression instantly changes from angry and impatient to concerned and upset. "Yeah?"

Gerard shrugs, lightly holding out his hands to Frank. The kitten in his palms has perfect timing, for its head raises and meows the softest, most heartbreaking noise ever to hit their ears. Frank's whole being just melts, and he actually _gets out of bed_ to take the thing from Gerard's hands. Frank inspects it, as if mentally checking off a list to see if he can keep it.

And it seems the kitten passes the examination. Frank lifts the kitten up onto his shoulder. Its little claws grip into the fabric of the tee, and it meows again and again and again. Its tail swings, and its big blue eyes glitter with fondness.

Gerard grins when Frank does. "It's a boy."

Frank touches a little black ear, the white paw. "His name?"

"What do you think?"

Gerard already knows the answer before Frank can voice it, but he still acts surprised at the nice sound of it when his boyfriend unearths his choice of name.

"How about 'Oswald'?"

"Because our cat killed Kennedy," he jokes.

Frank nods, a big smile splitting across his face as he chuckles and agrees, "Because our cat killed Kennedy."


End file.
